bibi | she/her | 18+ | sporadic updates | main (where i post my oc content): @bibispatisserie my art blog: @bibiscribbling3scapades
gossip girl blog: @pennednmanhattan
reblogs only: @bibirinaaa Reqs closed but askbox open!
A/N: technically gn!user but user wears a dress! will make a version where user wears a crisp button-up and slacks. 2nd part will be split in fem!pov and male!pov tho cuz its gonna be smexxyyyy!
tags nd warnings (for the following part too): possessive black alien blob, protectiveness, established relationship, reader bonded with Venom, eventual smut and sexual content, can be non-compliant if ur reading the comics (because i did not BUT i plan to!!), humiliation, semi-public seggs, anal, inappropriate usage of tendrils (HEHEHEH), kinda dark becuz he uses his advantage to use ur body if it fits him?? (hmm would it be considered non-con elements?)
edit: part 2 will include fingering I realized. oh well…who are we to complain 🤝
Patience was never considered to be Venom's strong suit. Neither was he known to hold back for a host, yet here we were. He watched through your eyes, a coiled mass of a shadow lurking just beneath the surface of your consciousness.
"This is beneath us." Venom's voice was booming, echoing through the chambers of your mind. You ignored it, mainly because it was his fifth complaint this night, three of them being that there were no tater tots on this office dinner you were invited on.
His voice was filled with indignation and disbelief when you two had looked over the menu only twenty minutes ago. "Tater tots are a culinary need. Highly efficient. Salt. Fat. Crunch. Optimal for us. This place is very odd and clearly does not have any taste." Venom had insisted, while you were honestly just trying to figure out where all the exits were located. Just in case the sensory load of needing to keep a certain symbiote in line became too much.
"Alistair, can you pass over the salt please?", said your coworker Diana, to which your middle aged coordinater shifted his arm, accidentally knocking over your wine glass, not only staining the apricot table cloths but your gorgeous silk dress too.
Venom was absolutely, unequivocally revolted. The sheer, unmitigated stupidity of the situation was grating on his nerves like sandpaper.
Not only was the menu a pathetic insult to their shared biology, lacking any semblance of salt, fat or the glorious crunch of a potato but the environment itself was a sensory nightmare. The clinking of silverware, the dull roar of mindless conversation, the smell of expensive, uninspired hors d'ouevres… it was all wrong. And then, the pinnacle of incompetence; the human had spilled the wine. "Pathetic. Utterly pathetic." He hissed internally, appalled by the mishap, his voice a dark vibrating sneer that echoed through your skull. "A useless, foolis creature. He shouldn't be allowed to move his limbs in a civilized society, let alone sit at a table with us."
You were about to give him a piece on your mind, arguing it was an accident, really, while getting ready to excuse yourself from the table to wash up in the bathroom which you had spotted earlier. Before you could stand up, Alistair was all too ready to give you a hand, a timid smile accompanying the sheet-white, toothy smile he wore. "I-I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." soaking his handkerchief in water, he arched a brow to which you hesitantly nodded, corners of your lips curling up in a faint smile, "At least let me lend you a hand, it's the least I can do."
"Thanks". A few wipes to your arm and the blots of dark red were still much visible; crimson against silk didn’t go so well. You knew that much well from all the times Venom indulged his carnal desires by jumping a poor, stray animal and dragging you right into it. You reminded yourself to grab a stain remover on the way back home, preferably with several packages of tater tots to calm a very agitated black blob inside you.
"And now look! He is touching you. He is touching you with that…that sodden, pathetic scrap of fabric!" The symbiote felt the spike of irritation in your own mind, the subtle tension in your muscles as you tried to maintain a professional mask. Venom, truth be told, wanted to lash out, not just because of the mess, but at the way your coordinator looked at you; that timid, apologetic gaze was a lie.
Venom could smell the underlying condescension, a clumsy attempt at intimacy that felt like a violation of their shared space. And you even leaned into it?! He felt the obsessive urge to surge forth, to coat the table in black, suffocating biomass and drag you away from this indignity. "Do not smile at him. He does not deserve the warmth of your expression. He has stained your dress, wasted time and is a distraction." Venom growled, the thoughts heavy and suffocating.
"We are leaving. Now. If we must endure this…this mediocrity, it will be in the silence of our own home. And…and you will buy the large bags. The extra salty ones. I am starving and this human's incompetence is making us ravenous" he insisted, feeling the restless movement of his mass beneath your skin, a frantic, hungry churning that mirrored your internal desire to simply vanish from the room.
No.
"No?!"
We're not leaving. Not yet. Perhaps in an hour, when dessert is served but it will come off as very weird if I just excuse myself and leave.
You kept up the professional exterior with ease, smiling effortlessly as the conversation of the latest office gossip continued steadily.
Venom's conciousness surged with a violent, oily agitation that made your nerves felt like they were brushed by static. The sheer audacity of the mental command was enough to make the symbiote let out a silent snarl that vibrated through your very teeth.
He could feel the stubbornness of your willpower, the polite, socially-conditioned restraint that forced you to entertain this foolery, play the part of the cooperative professional while your clothes were ruined and your space invaded by a creature lacking much significance. To Venom, every second spent in this room of mediocre scents and lukewarm wine was a second stolen from their true purpose.
He didn't just wanted to leave; he wanted to reclaim what was his, to pull you away from the noise and the light and the pathetic, small-minded people who didn't unterstand the scale of what you belonged to.
He began to exert a subtle, rhythmic pressure against his host's motor functions. It wasn't a full takeover, not yet, but a heavy, restless thrumming in the muscles of your limbs, a low frequency-vibration designed to make sitting feel like an impossible task.
What do you think you're doing?
"What does it look like? We will not last one more minute of this mediocrity. If you do not move, I will make sure you cannot stay still. I will make your hands tremble, your knees weak, and I will make this very, very difficult for you to maintain your little 'professional' mask. Decide. Now."
I would love a damian wayne-al ghul who gives his partner a motivational speech about how important education is, so I would actually lock in for my studies
around 2.1+ k words // established relationship // gn!user // kind of implied user has textured hair cuz i felt #self indulgent // been writing ts while Tarkan is queueing on my yt late at night let me tell u it feels fireee
"Ya amar."
"Hm?" You didn't look up from your phone yet, attention captured by the edit you were watching (user? Anonymous. Talent? Indescribable.), mind already forming all sorts of ideas to the song, to the characters that remind you of it, immediately feeling the urge to scribble them down.
"Hayati, please look at me for a moment."
Who could refuse, when it was the most stubborn, iron-clad person you've met, nearly begging for your eyes to meet his?
You complied, pausing the video, the silence in the room suddenly louder than the rhythmic sound that had erupted from your phone. He had looked up from the file he's been reviewing, turning all his attention to you. That expectant look in his eyes conveniently reminded you of the essay and math homework you still have had to finish, the weight of your shoulders making itself known again.
"I'll do it tomorrow." As if, your traitorous mind answered before Damian could.
"You said that yesterday." Matter-of-fact yet not a hint of arrogance he usually radiated. You loved and hated that about him; the way he approached you with kindness, yet firm and honest.
"It's just one assignment." you still insisted, absentmindedly fiddling with that loose string on your sweater.
Damian is quiet for a long moment. "No."
His voice isn't angry. Just firm. "It isn't."
You sigh, already fearing what's coming. "Please don't lecture me."
"I wasn't planning to." A beat. "But you've forced my hand." So dramatic. Damian had such a way of phrasing things.
He leans back in his chair. "When I was a child, every hour of my day was accounted for."
"Languages."
"History."
"Biology."
"Strategy."
"Literature."
"Art."
"I hated parts of it." a little softer now, the admission only came easy around you.
"I resented how little choice I had." His gaze settles on you. "You have a choice."
"And you're choosing not to."
Now, it wasn't simply the softening of his voice that tugged on your heartstrings but him slowly making his way on your bed where you sat, arms arms seeking solace around your middle, tugging you closer to him, seating you on his lap, facing him. His breath was warm, a comfortable sensation that would be intrusive if it came from anyone but him.
What you don't fail to notice is the way he sits, with the posture of a prince raised for war; straight, still, perfectly balanced.
Then, he picks up your textbook, spreading it open between you two. "You think education exists to satisfy professors." his other hand came up to tug an astray lock of hair behind your ear, tender in its simplicity. "It exists because one day you'll be faced with a problem no one will solve for you. I will admit, not everything will be equally useful." You tilted your head to face him, observing him staring at the phone in your hand.
"But in comparison to what you choose to distract yourself with…well. You won't remember your favorite social media trend. You won't remember which celebrity dated whom. And certainly not every scandal that is forming and spreading like a wildfire overnight. But you will remember how to think."
"Beloved, do you know what intelligence is?" He asked. By now, you had placed your phone on the nightstand, its display facing the surface, textbook remaining close.
You shrugged.
"It's not knowing everything." Damian answered only a beat later, fingers intertwining with yours, an easy gesture to keep your attention. As if he wasn't impossible to ignore.
"It's knowing how to learn. That's the skill. Everything else is built on top of it.
He rubbed a thump along the lines of your textbook, fingers threading lightly over your hair, mindful of keeping its texture. Your head leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping into you.
"Ive met brilliant people. They weren't brilliant because they were born that way."
His movements stilled for a moment, then continued. "They were curious. They prodded and asked questions, unafraid of being wrong. They kept learning, kept trying to find answers to unresolved questions, long after everyone stopped."
"So, like…kind of like your brother?"
He arched an inquisitive brow, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Drake?"
"I remember the time you told me he was so keen on reviving his best friend and not accepting your dad's presumed death for two years…"
He scowled. "Tt. That's a very poor example."
The corners of your lips lifted in a faint, playful smirk. "Well, you did assume it was about Tim, so-"
His scowl deepened, if it was even possible. "You're putting words in my mouth."
"Oh really?" His retorts were amusing you, mostly because it was all bark and no bite. For his enemies? All bark and bite. You were far from a threat for Damian though. "Me? Putting words in your mouth? Such harsh accusations." You gave in to the urge to kiss it off of him, leaning closer, lips meeting his in a soft kiss.
Damian meets you halfway, the kiss lacking the rigid tension of a combat stance. It is something else entirely, a surrender he only allows in this room, with you.
For a long moment, he is perfectly still, his hands resting at your waist, simply grounding himself in the reality of you. The constant, low-level hum of tactical awareness, the scanning of exits, the monitoring of the perimeter, the mental checklist of the night's unfinished business, they all fade into the background. It doesn't vanish, because he is not built to let it go, but it settles, quieted by your proximity.
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically soft, stripped of the sharp edges he uses to navigate the world. “You are remarkably stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rhythmic vibration against your lips. The bravado is gone, replaced by a quiet, steady intensity. He doesn't need to be the heir to the Demon, the son of the Bat, or the leader of the Titans right now.
"Not as stubborn as you."
Damian scoffs, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Stubbornness is a tactical necessity. It is called conviction.”
He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't let you go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, a silent refusal to let the banter move on to anything other than their proximity. “Besides, If I am so difficult, why are you still here?”
"Well…"
He shifts his weight, pulling you flush against him so there is no space left between you two. "Anyway. Don't attempt to discontinue the topic, I know what you are doing."
You blinked, your face warming at the accusation. And you thought you were so slick with it.
His gaze traced the line of your jaw before settling on your eyes. "I know you have been overwhelmed. It is not hard to see, nor am I blind." His understanding tone washed over you, like a calm wave on a violent shore.
"I know life gets loud. But don't confuse it being tired with giving up. They're different."
His hand cupped your jaw, tilting it to look properly at you. "I have not chosen a person with weak will as my beloved."
"If you are exhausted…rest."
"If you are struggling…ask for help."
"If you are discouraged…" His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that speaks of countless shared moments. "Take a break." His thumb sweeps across your knuckles, a gesture of unguarded tenderness he would deny to anyone else. There is no hesitation here. No confusion. Just a choice. "But don't abandon yourself."
His eyes don't leave yours. "Because every time you decide your future can wait another day…it listens."
Then, of course, because Damian cannot resist one lingering jab, and remaining to have the last word, he adds.
"And frankly…" he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I find your brain attractive."
"…" You were sure you either lost your mind or your boyfriend just decided to malfuntion mid-interference. "You what?"
"Your brain. It is attractive. As is every part of you." You were more surprised about the bluntness, and the sheer ease he confessed this to you, than being flattered.
"Oooh-"
"So i'd appreciate it if you actually used it." He finished, tapping your temple tenderly.
"…So you're saying I should finish my school work first before getting to writing and doom-scrolling until my rotten brain is reeking?"
Damian didn't give himself a moment to consider what you actually said before affirming your statement. "Correct-" he narrowed his eyes, processing.
You snorted, playfully bumping his side with your elbow and the scowl reentered the scene.
"Gotcha!"
Weeks later, you laid in your bed, impatient eyes quickly reading through the new chapter one of your favorite authors on ao3. A common attempt to distract yourself from your horrendous mark in physics.
Your schoolbag was thrown lazily beside the unmade bed, the desk so full with half-empty coffee cups, markers and textbooks, you nearly couldn't see the surface of it.
The window of your room slides open with a silence that belies the weight of the figure stepping through. You didn't even blink, used to your boyfriend making a rather dramatic entrance than just…oh i don't know, knocking on the door and waiting for it to open?
Damian lands without a sound, the only evidence of his arrival the faint shift in the air pressure and the way the shadows seem to deepen around him.
He stands there for a moment, scanning the room with predatory precision, his jaw set tight, eyes sharp as obsidian.
Then, he sees you. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. The rigid line of his spine softens, just a fraction. He steps forward, the dull thud of his boots on your floor the only sound breaking the quiet.
“Hello,” he says, his voice rougher than intended. Before you can respond, he’s there. Stepping closer, his hands come up, cupping your face with a reverence that contradicts the lethal grace of his movements. His thumbs brush your cheeks, calloused but gentle, before he leans in, a kiss against your temple, deliberate and slow.
"I heard about your…performance in physics."
Your eyes seemed transfixed on the floor, staring holes into a peckle of dust. Huh. Forgot to vacuum again.
"I….I really tried. So hard. Thought I got some of the questions right."
His tone softened, as did his features. "I know." Another kiss, this time to your cheek. "You tried your very best. That is the most important part."
He took your hand, seating you both down at the edge of your bed.
"I did what you asked, so why…why doesn't it work?"
His hand gave yours a light squeeze, meant to calm you. "Your grades do not equal your intelligence, Habibti. Perhaps the exercises were too difficult for you to solve or you weren't in the right state of mind." His eyes drew towards your desk. "We'll look over your test together. And then, I will help you study."
And when he did? It was without the patronizing or derisive tone some of your teachers used, or the classmates who deemed themselves higher than you, simply because they're naturally better at understanding the concepts. Just…explaining it, without evoking a sense of inferiority you felt around everyone who hadn't failed.
"I'm…I'm sorry, I don't understand it. Again." You said for the third time in a row, head in hands, a fingertip close to giving up.
Without snapping at you, or talking you down, he just found a different, perhaps easier approach to make it more plausible for you to grasp.
Afterwards, he held you close, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, into the safety he has built brick by brick, hideouts, safe routes, contingency plans, all the unspoken care he would never label as protective.
"Do you understand why I get frustrated?"
"Because I'm not the perfect student and know everything effortlessly like you?" You drawled, voice laced with dry sarcasm.
"No." His grip grew tighter, but not uncomfortably so. "It is when you could do well but simply refuse to put in the effort. May it be procrastination or distraction."
He turns his head toward you, closing the distance slightly so his forehead rests briefly against yours. "I do not expect flawless perfomance. That would be…counterintuitive. To both my mental state and yours."
You chuckled. "Not even a little?"
"Not even." he spoke, as confident as ever. "I simply do not wish to see someone wasting opportunities they won't always have. Someone who refuses to respect their own potential."
"Hm."
"Just 'hm'?"
"Just…thinking. You really are the most pragmatic person I've ever met."
"I shall take that as a compliment."
"You better."
Heheheheh I stand here, checks watch, 3 am, having written ts lil short story and brooo i couldnt STOP. might make more soon…
the idea stemmed from @kumasakka btw (THERE U GOO YOUR TAG, im just posting it on my dc/marvel blog eheheheh) who sought out a Damian Wayne who motivates her to lock tf innnn and…I felt very inspired. Hope im characterizing him well lmfaooo, I never wrote sm for him in one go!
yumyumyum this was actually so good, I read this on train — half an hour before my exam. even though I was supposed to study to make sure I won’t fail, I read this instead LOLOLOL
VRO THIS IS SO ACCURATE BECAUSE I AM LOCKED TF OUT WHEN ITS ABOUT STUDYING AND ALSO, MY PHYSICS EXAM DIDN’T END WELL TOO ☹️💔💔
HELPPP make sure u study next time alrightttt <33 hope it still went well! And ngl, I wrote the physics part, thinking of the way I never got the subject, only understood parts and still got bad marks. After writing it out, I thought hmm but isn’t it better to generalize it, say that user just failed a test in some subject that isn’t mentioned? but I left it that way cuz I got lazeyyy 🥸
IM GLAD U CAN RELATE THO AND I HOPE IT HELPS TO MAKE U LOCK IN FOR THE LAST WEEKS OF SCHOOL IM CHEERING U ON U GOT THISSS ❤️❤️❤️🫶
// off topic but I love the aesthetic of your blog, its so stunning!!!
thinking about Diana Prince and her lil mortal girlfriend having to endure her bringing unhealthy amount of stray animals into the apartment and she keep trying to find good excuses to having them stick around. Like every time u come home from work, the strays multiply and at this point, you’re a) wondering where she’s picking them up from, b) if this is her form of Batman’s child distribution system
Would you believe me if I told you I got inspired by that tt of her rejecting Superman’s advances in the animated film, saying ‘I come from an island of all women. Work it out for yourself’. And…yeah.
Which reminds me….i NEED to do my reading on her!!! will take any recommendations on how to get started!!!!
I would love a damian wayne-al ghul who gives his partner a motivational speech about how important education is, so I would actually lock in for my studies
around 2.1+ k words // established relationship // gn!user // kind of implied user has textured hair cuz i felt #self indulgent // been writing ts while Tarkan is queueing on my yt late at night let me tell u it feels fireee
"Ya amar."
"Hm?" You didn't look up from your phone yet, attention captured by the edit you were watching (user? Anonymous. Talent? Indescribable.), mind already forming all sorts of ideas to the song, to the characters that remind you of it, immediately feeling the urge to scribble them down.
"Hayati, please look at me for a moment."
Who could refuse, when it was the most stubborn, iron-clad person you've met, nearly begging for your eyes to meet his?
You complied, pausing the video, the silence in the room suddenly louder than the rhythmic sound that had erupted from your phone. He had looked up from the file he's been reviewing, turning all his attention to you. That expectant look in his eyes conveniently reminded you of the essay and math homework you still have had to finish, the weight of your shoulders making itself known again.
"I'll do it tomorrow." As if, your traitorous mind answered before Damian could.
"You said that yesterday." Matter-of-fact yet not a hint of arrogance he usually radiated. You loved and hated that about him; the way he approached you with kindness, yet firm and honest.
"It's just one assignment." you still insisted, absentmindedly fiddling with that loose string on your sweater.
Damian is quiet for a long moment. "No."
His voice isn't angry. Just firm. "It isn't."
You sigh, already fearing what's coming. "Please don't lecture me."
"I wasn't planning to." A beat. "But you've forced my hand." So dramatic. Damian had such a way of phrasing things.
He leans back in his chair. "When I was a child, every hour of my day was accounted for."
"Languages."
"History."
"Biology."
"Strategy."
"Literature."
"Art."
"I hated parts of it." a little softer now, the admission only came easy around you.
"I resented how little choice I had." His gaze settles on you. "You have a choice."
"And you're choosing not to."
Now, it wasn't simply the softening of his voice that tugged on your heartstrings but him slowly making his way on your bed where you sat, arms arms seeking solace around your middle, tugging you closer to him, seating you on his lap, facing him. His breath was warm, a comfortable sensation that would be intrusive if it came from anyone but him.
What you don't fail to notice is the way he sits, with the posture of a prince raised for war; straight, still, perfectly balanced.
Then, he picks up your textbook, spreading it open between you two. "You think education exists to satisfy professors." his other hand came up to tug an astray lock of hair behind your ear, tender in its simplicity. "It exists because one day you'll be faced with a problem no one will solve for you. I will admit, not everything will be equally useful." You tilted your head to face him, observing him staring at the phone in your hand.
"But in comparison to what you choose to distract yourself with…well. You won't remember your favorite social media trend. You won't remember which celebrity dated whom. And certainly not every scandal that is forming and spreading like a wildfire overnight. But you will remember how to think."
"Beloved, do you know what intelligence is?" He asked. By now, you had placed your phone on the nightstand, its display facing the surface, textbook remaining close.
You shrugged.
"It's not knowing everything." Damian answered only a beat later, fingers intertwining with yours, an easy gesture to keep your attention. As if he wasn't impossible to ignore.
"It's knowing how to learn. That's the skill. Everything else is built on top of it.
He rubbed a thump along the lines of your textbook, fingers threading lightly over your hair, mindful of keeping its texture. Your head leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping into you.
"Ive met brilliant people. They weren't brilliant because they were born that way."
His movements stilled for a moment, then continued. "They were curious. They prodded and asked questions, unafraid of being wrong. They kept learning, kept trying to find answers to unresolved questions, long after everyone stopped."
"So, like…kind of like your brother?"
He arched an inquisitive brow, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Drake?"
"I remember the time you told me he was so keen on reviving his best friend and not accepting your dad's presumed death for two years…"
He scowled. "Tt. That's a very poor example."
The corners of your lips lifted in a faint, playful smirk. "Well, you did assume it was about Tim, so-"
His scowl deepened, if it was even possible. "You're putting words in my mouth."
"Oh really?" His retorts were amusing you, mostly because it was all bark and no bite. For his enemies? All bark and bite. You were far from a threat for Damian though. "Me? Putting words in your mouth? Such harsh accusations." You gave in to the urge to kiss it off of him, leaning closer, lips meeting his in a soft kiss.
Damian meets you halfway, the kiss lacking the rigid tension of a combat stance. It is something else entirely, a surrender he only allows in this room, with you.
For a long moment, he is perfectly still, his hands resting at your waist, simply grounding himself in the reality of you. The constant, low-level hum of tactical awareness, the scanning of exits, the monitoring of the perimeter, the mental checklist of the night's unfinished business, they all fade into the background. It doesn't vanish, because he is not built to let it go, but it settles, quieted by your proximity.
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically soft, stripped of the sharp edges he uses to navigate the world. “You are remarkably stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rhythmic vibration against your lips. The bravado is gone, replaced by a quiet, steady intensity. He doesn't need to be the heir to the Demon, the son of the Bat, or the leader of the Titans right now.
"Not as stubborn as you."
Damian scoffs, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Stubbornness is a tactical necessity. It is called conviction.”
He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't let you go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, a silent refusal to let the banter move on to anything other than their proximity. “Besides, If I am so difficult, why are you still here?”
"Well…"
He shifts his weight, pulling you flush against him so there is no space left between you two. "Anyway. Don't attempt to discontinue the topic, I know what you are doing."
You blinked, your face warming at the accusation. And you thought you were so slick with it.
His gaze traced the line of your jaw before settling on your eyes. "I know you have been overwhelmed. It is not hard to see, nor am I blind." His understanding tone washed over you, like a calm wave on a violent shore.
"I know life gets loud. But don't confuse it being tired with giving up. They're different."
His hand cupped your jaw, tilting it to look properly at you. "I have not chosen a person with weak will as my beloved."
"If you are exhausted…rest."
"If you are struggling…ask for help."
"If you are discouraged…" His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that speaks of countless shared moments. "Take a break." His thumb sweeps across your knuckles, a gesture of unguarded tenderness he would deny to anyone else. There is no hesitation here. No confusion. Just a choice. "But don't abandon yourself."
His eyes don't leave yours. "Because every time you decide your future can wait another day…it listens."
Then, of course, because Damian cannot resist one lingering jab, and remaining to have the last word, he adds.
"And frankly…" he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I find your brain attractive."
"…" You were sure you either lost your mind or your boyfriend just decided to malfuntion mid-interference. "You what?"
"Your brain. It is attractive. As is every part of you." You were more surprised about the bluntness, and the sheer ease he confessed this to you, than being flattered.
"Oooh-"
"So i'd appreciate it if you actually used it." He finished, tapping your temple tenderly.
"…So you're saying I should finish my school work first before getting to writing and doom-scrolling until my rotten brain is reeking?"
Damian didn't give himself a moment to consider what you actually said before affirming your statement. "Correct-" he narrowed his eyes, processing.
You snorted, playfully bumping his side with your elbow and the scowl reentered the scene.
"Gotcha!"
Weeks later, you laid in your bed, impatient eyes quickly reading through the new chapter one of your favorite authors on ao3. A common attempt to distract yourself from your horrendous mark in physics.
Your schoolbag was thrown lazily beside the unmade bed, the desk so full with half-empty coffee cups, markers and textbooks, you nearly couldn't see the surface of it.
The window of your room slides open with a silence that belies the weight of the figure stepping through. You didn't even blink, used to your boyfriend making a rather dramatic entrance than just…oh i don't know, knocking on the door and waiting for it to open?
Damian lands without a sound, the only evidence of his arrival the faint shift in the air pressure and the way the shadows seem to deepen around him.
He stands there for a moment, scanning the room with predatory precision, his jaw set tight, eyes sharp as obsidian.
Then, he sees you. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. The rigid line of his spine softens, just a fraction. He steps forward, the dull thud of his boots on your floor the only sound breaking the quiet.
“Hello,” he says, his voice rougher than intended. Before you can respond, he’s there. Stepping closer, his hands come up, cupping your face with a reverence that contradicts the lethal grace of his movements. His thumbs brush your cheeks, calloused but gentle, before he leans in, a kiss against your temple, deliberate and slow.
"I heard about your…performance in physics."
Your eyes seemed transfixed on the floor, staring holes into a peckle of dust. Huh. Forgot to vacuum again.
"I….I really tried. So hard. Thought I got some of the questions right."
His tone softened, as did his features. "I know." Another kiss, this time to your cheek. "You tried your very best. That is the most important part."
He took your hand, seating you both down at the edge of your bed.
"I did what you asked, so why…why doesn't it work?"
His hand gave yours a light squeeze, meant to calm you. "Your grades do not equal your intelligence, Habibti. Perhaps the exercises were too difficult for you to solve or you weren't in the right state of mind." His eyes drew towards your desk. "We'll look over your test together. And then, I will help you study."
And when he did? It was without the patronizing or derisive tone some of your teachers used, or the classmates who deemed themselves higher than you, simply because they're naturally better at understanding the concepts. Just…explaining it, without evoking a sense of inferiority you felt around everyone who hadn't failed.
"I'm…I'm sorry, I don't understand it. Again." You said for the third time in a row, head in hands, a fingertip close to giving up.
Without snapping at you, or talking you down, he just found a different, perhaps easier approach to make it more plausible for you to grasp.
Afterwards, he held you close, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, into the safety he has built brick by brick, hideouts, safe routes, contingency plans, all the unspoken care he would never label as protective.
"Do you understand why I get frustrated?"
"Because I'm not the perfect student and know everything effortlessly like you?" You drawled, voice laced with dry sarcasm.
"No." His grip grew tighter, but not uncomfortably so. "It is when you could do well but simply refuse to put in the effort. May it be procrastination or distraction."
He turns his head toward you, closing the distance slightly so his forehead rests briefly against yours. "I do not expect flawless perfomance. That would be…counterintuitive. To both my mental state and yours."
You chuckled. "Not even a little?"
"Not even." he spoke, as confident as ever. "I simply do not wish to see someone wasting opportunities they won't always have. Someone who refuses to respect their own potential."
"Hm."
"Just 'hm'?"
"Just…thinking. You really are the most pragmatic person I've ever met."
"I shall take that as a compliment."
"You better."
Heheheheh I stand here, checks watch, 3 am, having written ts lil short story and brooo i couldnt STOP. might make more soon…
the idea stemmed from @kumasakka btw (THERE U GOO YOUR TAG, im just posting it on my dc/marvel blog eheheheh) who sought out a Damian Wayne who motivates her to lock tf innnn and…I felt very inspired. Hope im characterizing him well lmfaooo, I never wrote sm for him in one go!
yumyumyum this was actually so good, I read this on train — half an hour before my exam. even though I was supposed to study to make sure I won’t fail, I read this instead LOLOLOL
VRO THIS IS SO ACCURATE BECAUSE I AM LOCKED TF OUT WHEN ITS ABOUT STUDYING AND ALSO, MY PHYSICS EXAM DIDN’T END WELL TOO ☹️💔💔
HELPPP make sure u study next time alrightttt <33 hope it still went well! And ngl, I wrote the physics part, thinking of the way I never got the subject, only understood parts and still got bad marks. After writing it out, I thought hmm but isn’t it better to generalize it, say that user just failed a test in some subject that isn’t mentioned? but I left it that way cuz I got lazeyyy 🥸
IM GLAD U CAN RELATE THO AND I HOPE IT HELPS TO MAKE U LOCK IN FOR THE LAST WEEKS OF SCHOOL IM CHEERING U ON U GOT THISSS ❤️❤️❤️🫶
// off topic but I love the aesthetic of your blog, its so stunning!!!
I would love a damian wayne-al ghul who gives his partner a motivational speech about how important education is, so I would actually lock in for my studies
around 2.1+ k words // established relationship // gn!user // kind of implied user has textured hair cuz i felt #self indulgent // been writing ts while Tarkan is queueing on my yt late at night let me tell u it feels fireee
"Ya amar."
"Hm?" You didn't look up from your phone yet, attention captured by the edit you were watching (user? Anonymous. Talent? Indescribable.), mind already forming all sorts of ideas to the song, to the characters that remind you of it, immediately feeling the urge to scribble them down.
"Hayati, please look at me for a moment."
Who could refuse, when it was the most stubborn, iron-clad person you've met, nearly begging for your eyes to meet his?
You complied, pausing the video, the silence in the room suddenly louder than the rhythmic sound that had erupted from your phone. He had looked up from the file he's been reviewing, turning all his attention to you. That expectant look in his eyes conveniently reminded you of the essay and math homework you still have had to finish, the weight of your shoulders making itself known again.
"I'll do it tomorrow." As if, your traitorous mind answered before Damian could.
"You said that yesterday." Matter-of-fact yet not a hint of arrogance he usually radiated. You loved and hated that about him; the way he approached you with kindness, yet firm and honest.
"It's just one assignment." you still insisted, absentmindedly fiddling with that loose string on your sweater.
Damian is quiet for a long moment. "No."
His voice isn't angry. Just firm. "It isn't."
You sigh, already fearing what's coming. "Please don't lecture me."
"I wasn't planning to." A beat. "But you've forced my hand." So dramatic. Damian had such a way of phrasing things.
He leans back in his chair. "When I was a child, every hour of my day was accounted for."
"Languages."
"History."
"Biology."
"Strategy."
"Literature."
"Art."
"I hated parts of it." a little softer now, the admission only came easy around you.
"I resented how little choice I had." His gaze settles on you. "You have a choice."
"And you're choosing not to."
Now, it wasn't simply the softening of his voice that tugged on your heartstrings but him slowly making his way on your bed where you sat, arms arms seeking solace around your middle, tugging you closer to him, seating you on his lap, facing him. His breath was warm, a comfortable sensation that would be intrusive if it came from anyone but him.
What you don't fail to notice is the way he sits, with the posture of a prince raised for war; straight, still, perfectly balanced.
Then, he picks up your textbook, spreading it open between you two. "You think education exists to satisfy professors." his other hand came up to tug an astray lock of hair behind your ear, tender in its simplicity. "It exists because one day you'll be faced with a problem no one will solve for you. I will admit, not everything will be equally useful." You tilted your head to face him, observing him staring at the phone in your hand.
"But in comparison to what you choose to distract yourself with…well. You won't remember your favorite social media trend. You won't remember which celebrity dated whom. And certainly not every scandal that is forming and spreading like a wildfire overnight. But you will remember how to think."
"Beloved, do you know what intelligence is?" He asked. By now, you had placed your phone on the nightstand, its display facing the surface, textbook remaining close.
You shrugged.
"It's not knowing everything." Damian answered only a beat later, fingers intertwining with yours, an easy gesture to keep your attention. As if he wasn't impossible to ignore.
"It's knowing how to learn. That's the skill. Everything else is built on top of it.
He rubbed a thump along the lines of your textbook, fingers threading lightly over your hair, mindful of keeping its texture. Your head leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping into you.
"Ive met brilliant people. They weren't brilliant because they were born that way."
His movements stilled for a moment, then continued. "They were curious. They prodded and asked questions, unafraid of being wrong. They kept learning, kept trying to find answers to unresolved questions, long after everyone stopped."
"So, like…kind of like your brother?"
He arched an inquisitive brow, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Drake?"
"I remember the time you told me he was so keen on reviving his best friend and not accepting your dad's presumed death for two years…"
He scowled. "Tt. That's a very poor example."
The corners of your lips lifted in a faint, playful smirk. "Well, you did assume it was about Tim, so-"
His scowl deepened, if it was even possible. "You're putting words in my mouth."
"Oh really?" His retorts were amusing you, mostly because it was all bark and no bite. For his enemies? All bark and bite. You were far from a threat for Damian though. "Me? Putting words in your mouth? Such harsh accusations." You gave in to the urge to kiss it off of him, leaning closer, lips meeting his in a soft kiss.
Damian meets you halfway, the kiss lacking the rigid tension of a combat stance. It is something else entirely, a surrender he only allows in this room, with you.
For a long moment, he is perfectly still, his hands resting at your waist, simply grounding himself in the reality of you. The constant, low-level hum of tactical awareness, the scanning of exits, the monitoring of the perimeter, the mental checklist of the night's unfinished business, they all fade into the background. It doesn't vanish, because he is not built to let it go, but it settles, quieted by your proximity.
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically soft, stripped of the sharp edges he uses to navigate the world. “You are remarkably stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rhythmic vibration against your lips. The bravado is gone, replaced by a quiet, steady intensity. He doesn't need to be the heir to the Demon, the son of the Bat, or the leader of the Titans right now.
"Not as stubborn as you."
Damian scoffs, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Stubbornness is a tactical necessity. It is called conviction.”
He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't let you go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, a silent refusal to let the banter move on to anything other than their proximity. “Besides, If I am so difficult, why are you still here?”
"Well…"
He shifts his weight, pulling you flush against him so there is no space left between you two. "Anyway. Don't attempt to discontinue the topic, I know what you are doing."
You blinked, your face warming at the accusation. And you thought you were so slick with it.
His gaze traced the line of your jaw before settling on your eyes. "I know you have been overwhelmed. It is not hard to see, nor am I blind." His understanding tone washed over you, like a calm wave on a violent shore.
"I know life gets loud. But don't confuse it being tired with giving up. They're different."
His hand cupped your jaw, tilting it to look properly at you. "I have not chosen a person with weak will as my beloved."
"If you are exhausted…rest."
"If you are struggling…ask for help."
"If you are discouraged…" His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that speaks of countless shared moments. "Take a break." His thumb sweeps across your knuckles, a gesture of unguarded tenderness he would deny to anyone else. There is no hesitation here. No confusion. Just a choice. "But don't abandon yourself."
His eyes don't leave yours. "Because every time you decide your future can wait another day…it listens."
Then, of course, because Damian cannot resist one lingering jab, and remaining to have the last word, he adds.
"And frankly…" he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I find your brain attractive."
"…" You were sure you either lost your mind or your boyfriend just decided to malfuntion mid-interference. "You what?"
"Your brain. It is attractive. As is every part of you." You were more surprised about the bluntness, and the sheer ease he confessed this to you, than being flattered.
"Oooh-"
"So i'd appreciate it if you actually used it." He finished, tapping your temple tenderly.
"…So you're saying I should finish my school work first before getting to writing and doom-scrolling until my brain rots?"
Damian didn't give himself a moment to consider what you actually said before affirming your statement. "Correct-" he narrowed his eyes, processing.
You snorted, playfully bumping his side with your elbow and the scowl reentered the scene.
"Gotcha!"
Weeks later, you laid in your bed, impatient eyes quickly reading through the new chapter one of your favorite authors on ao3. A common attempt to distract yourself from your horrendous mark in physics.
Your schoolbag was thrown lazily beside the unmade bed, the desk so full with half-empty coffee cups, markers and textbooks, you nearly couldn't see the surface of it.
The window of your room slides open with a silence that belies the weight of the figure stepping through. You didn't even blink, used to your boyfriend making a rather dramatic entrance than just…oh i don't know, knocking on the door and waiting for it to open?
Damian lands without a sound, the only evidence of his arrival the faint shift in the air pressure and the way the shadows seem to deepen around him.
He stands there for a moment, scanning the room with predatory precision, his jaw set tight, eyes sharp as obsidian.
Then, he sees you. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. The rigid line of his spine softens, just a fraction. He steps forward, the dull thud of his boots on your floor the only sound breaking the quiet.
“Hello,” he says, his voice rougher than intended. Before you can respond, he’s there. Stepping closer, his hands come up, cupping your face with a reverence that contradicts the lethal grace of his movements. His thumbs brush your cheeks, calloused but gentle, before he leans in, a kiss against your temple, deliberate and slow.
"I heard about your…performance in physics."
Your eyes seemed transfixed on the floor, staring holes into a peckle of dust. Huh. Forgot to vacuum again.
"I….I really tried. So hard. Thought I got some of the questions right."
His tone softened, as did his features. "I know." Another kiss, this time to your cheek. "You tried your very best. That is the most important part."
He took your hand, seating you both down at the edge of your bed.
"I did what you asked, so why…why doesn't it work?"
His hand gave yours a light squeeze, meant to calm you. "Your grades do not equal your intelligence, Habibti. Perhaps the exercises were too difficult for you to solve or you weren't in the right state of mind." His eyes drew towards your desk. "We'll look over your test together. And then, I will help you study."
And when he did? It was without the patronizing or derisive tone some of your teachers used, or the classmates who deemed themselves higher than you, simply because they're naturally better at understanding the concepts. Just…explaining it, without evoking a sense of inferiority you felt around everyone who hadn't failed.
"I'm…I'm sorry, I don't understand it. Again." You said for the third time in a row, head in hands, a fingertip close to giving up.
Without snapping at you, or talking you down, he just found a different, perhaps easier approach to make it more plausible for you to grasp.
Afterwards, he held you close, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, into the safety he has built brick by brick, hideouts, safe routes, contingency plans, all the unspoken care he would never label as protective.
"Do you understand why I get frustrated?"
"Because I'm not the perfect student and know everything effortlessly like you?" You drawled, voice laced with dry sarcasm.
"No." His grip grew tighter, but not uncomfortably so. "It is when you could do well but simply refuse to put in the effort. May it be procrastination or distraction."
He turns his head toward you, closing the distance slightly so his forehead rests briefly against yours. "I do not expect flawless perfomance. That would be…counterintuitive. To both my mental state and yours."
You chuckled. "Not even a little?"
"Not even." he spoke, as confident as ever. "I simply do not wish to see someone wasting opportunities they won't always have. Someone who refuses to respect their own potential."
"Hm."
"Just 'hm'?"
"Just…thinking. You really are the most pragmatic person I've ever met."
"I shall take that as a compliment."
"You better."
Heheheheh I stand here, checks watch, 3 am, having written ts lil short story and brooo i couldnt STOP. might make more soon…
the idea stemmed from @kumasakka btw (THERE U GOO YOUR TAG, im just posting it on my dc/marvel blog eheheheh) who sought out a Damian Wayne who motivates her to lock tf innnn and…I felt very inspired. Hope im characterizing him well lmfaooo, I never wrote sm for him in one go! Yall pls lmk if u like this depiction of himmm
Adult Damian Wayne but make it Hogwarts AU! Headcanons // Part 2 because I remembered he became a doc
+ !gn reader
I was thinking. I was thinking.
Hear me out for a sec. Walk with me. We’re walking.
Since in recent DC Comics runs, Damian explores a path in medicine, successfully getting accepted into medical school and volunteering at a hospital and seeking to heal rather than fight, I thought…why not connect it with the Magic!AU?
Young Damian was trained to be the perfect weapon. Adult Damian wants to become the perfect protector.
Sure, he seems to show struggles to step away from his legacy as Robin buuuut if it was easier and if it would be integrated into a Magic!AU I believe it would be super cool to think: the same steady hands that once knew exactly where to cut now know exactly how to heal. And not just in a purely muggle-medical-treatment-sense either.
To be honest, I don’t picture him as a comfortable, polished healer in a place like St. Mungo’s. He’d be capable of working there, but he’d grow restless behind pristine walls.
⚕ I picture him as the wizarding equivalent of a trauma surgeon and/or combat medic.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ Performing life-saving emergencies, immediate lifesaving trauma care, and medical evacuation for wounded or ill personnel right at the point of injury. Thinking, during a Wizarding War, he’d be getting stationed at combat army units, maybeee.
⚕ He’d be someone who doesn’t Believe Magic Should Replace Skill.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ Wizarding medicine often relies on spells. Damian insists on learning Muggle medicine, magical anatomy, surgery, potion chemistry, herbology. Simply because, what if your wand is snapped in two? What if magic is suppressed? What if you’re treating a muggle? He’d rather be prepared for the worst-case scenarios than watch helplessly as someone endures pain and agony when magic isn’t available.
(In my head, it kind of reminds me that when Damian was killed by his clone, the Heretic, Batman fought his way to Apokolips to retrieve him and had his body placed in the Chaos Shard, a fragment imbued with Darkseid’s Omega energy, and that way he temporarily gained superhuman strength, invulnerability, flight and heat vision. Considering Bruce doesn’t trust magic and near invulnerable powers as much as losing control is a big danger, thus, him being the contingency plan-maker™️, I think Damian would be just as cautious.)
⚕ People don’t really know him as “the Boy Wonder”, or “Robin”. Or “Batman’s son.”
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ Among Healers, He’s known as the wizard who never loses his composure. The wizard who once performed emergency surgery while Anti-Magic Wards disabled everyone’s spells. The wizard who memorized every poisonous magical plant before graduating. The wizard who keeps a sketchbook. Filled not with people.
But anatomical drawings.
Perfectly labeled. Beautiful enough to belong in textbooks. Neat handwriting that might as well be type written.
⚕ Bruce gave him a stopwatch.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ He gave it to him the day he graduated from healer training. It’s old. Older than the old man. Silver worn smooth by generations of hands.
The glass bears a tiny scratch across the face. Inside the lid is an engraving. “Every second is someone’s whole world.” No grand speech. Bruce simply closed Damian’s fingers around it. “You’ll know when to use it.”
⚕ Damian doesn’t carry it because it’s magical.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ He carries it because medicine demands certainty. The moment resuscitation ends, the moment he accepts there is nothing more he can do, he presses the crown. Click. Time of death. His handwriting is immaculate as he transfers it to the chart. No hesitation. No shaking hands. Only afterward, when no one is looking, does he stare at the watch for one second longer than necessary.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ People think Damian has forgotten. He hasn’t. He remembers every patient. Not just the ones who died. The names. The injuries. The wand woods. The colors of their robes.
The way one old witch insisted on apologizing for “making such a fuss.”
The twelve-year-old who asked whether Kneazles went to heaven.
The Auror who kept joking through internal bleeding.
The stopwatch records times. Damian remembers the people behind them.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ He never really resets it. Mind you, the watch has a magical memory. Every recorded time of death remains stored within it. One page. Then another. Then another. Thousands.
The Ministry offered him a newer model. One that is more efficient, more reliable, durable.
He refused. Bruce, of course, noticed but never asks why.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ Most people assume he checks it often. He doesn’t. Because he already knows. The watch isn’t there to remind him. It’s there because he believes forgetting would be disrespectful.
⚕ After every loss, He washes his hands.
Long after they’re clean. He rewinds the stopwatch. Exactly twelve turns. Places it back into the same pocket. Straightens his sleeves. Then walks into the next room. Someone else still needs him.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ It’s not that he blames himself for every death. By the time he’s an experienced healer, he understands medicine well enough to know that would be irrational. Instead, he does something arguably more Damian: he conducts a relentless internal audit after every loss.
⚕ He’ll replay the case in his mind:
Should I have intubated thirty seconds earlier? Was there a curse interaction I failed to recognize?
Did I miss an unusual symptom?
Could another potion have bought us another minute?
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ Nine times out of ten, the answer is no. Any other healer would reach the same conclusion and move on. Damian doesn’t. He files those questions away anyway, not because he wants to punish himself, but because he refuses to let complacency cost the next patient their life.
⚕ His grief isn’t rooted in ego.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ It’s not that he thinks “I should have been able to save everyone” (though I believe younger Damian was more likely to think that). it’s rooted in duty, as in “If there’s anything to learn from this, I owe it to the next person on my table”.
⚕ It’s a burden, but it’s also what makes him exceptional.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ He honors those he couldn’t save by making sure every loss teaches him something that might save someone else.
⚕ In any AU, I believe he never stops being an artist. People think he quit. He didn’t.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ He simply stopped showing anyone. Until, you accidentally discover an entire room. Hundreds. Thousands. Sketches.
Of medical anatomy. Bruce. Dick laughing. Alfred gardening. Bat-Cow. The Gotham skyline. The greenhouse. Your sleeping face. Your hands while reading. The back of your head during meetings.
You may ask, “How long have you been drawing me?”
He freezes. A rather rare occurrence.
“…”
“…The lighting was favorable.”
⚕ The way he’d care about you, whether you’d be a patient, a fighting wizard in the midst of a Wizarding War or a field medic like him, it’d be…impossible to notice. Until either of you make a move anyway.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ He never says “I was worried.” Instead, he already has antidotes prepared before your mission. He notices your exhaustion before you do. He keeps extra gloves in his office because yours tear frequently. He quietly replaces your cracked wand holster.
You never see him do it.
⚕ He’d never say “I love you” first either.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ Not because he doesn’t. But because to Damian. Love is measurable. The sacrifices he’s willing to make for you, what he’s willing to endure to keep you in his orbit, the loyalty he’d show during difficult times.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ It’s making sure your anti-poison kit is restocked. It’s memorizing your allergies. It’s knowing when you’re lying about being tired. It’s repairing your broom before you notice it’s damaged. It’s restocking and reorganizing your shelves of medicine and kits. It’s standing slightly closer when a room feels unsafe. It’s remembering every tiny detail you’ve ever shared.
⚕ He doesn’t know when he started falling in love with you.
💉˖𓍢ִ✧˚ But he remembers when he started making room for you in every plan. Not as simply another variable. But a defining factor that made it impossible to not calculate you in. After he started, it seemed inefficient to stop.
Adult Damian Wayne but make it Hogwarts AU! Headcanons
(x gn!reader below!)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 Adult Damian is still recognizably Damian: proud, hypercompetent, dry, but he’s matured into someone who’s learned restraint. He doesn’t exactly stop being arrogant; he simply earns it more often.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 Perhaps he becomes Bruce’s equal in detective work while still carrying Talia’s pragmatism since he grew up with his father’s investigative mind and the League’s training.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He may work within the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or perhaps as an Unspeakable temporarily assigned to investigations, constantly toeing the line between legal procedure and vigilante methods.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 Damian inherited Bruce’s reputation before he inherited his title. The first day Damian joined the Ministry, everyone expected nepotism. Then they watched him solve a six-month investigation in three days. Now nobody brings it up anymore.
Except Damian. Who absolutely enjoys reminding people: “I did that before breakfast.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He still loves animals. Every magical creature. Every. Single. One. Dangerous? Good.
He finds Blast-Ended Skrewts “misunderstood.”
Thestrals? Beautiful.
Acromantulas? Questionable. Still worthy of respect.
His office eventually becomes home to several rescued Kneazles that absolutely refuse to leave. Every person who leaves his office after needing something complains.“They’re disruptive.” But they don’t dare to say anything to Damian at all.
The Kneazle is asleep in his lap. And Damian may frown when they’re making a mess of the office. But he just…lets them exist in this space he carved out for himself.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He is terrifying with children. Not because he’s mean. Because children adore him.
Nobody understands why. Damian doesn’t either.
He’ll be sitting in a waiting room.
Three children quietly migrate toward him. One falls asleep against his shoulder. He continues reading medical journals. Doesn’t move.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 It doesn’t matter if you’re an Auror, an Unspeakable or just an analyst who keeps stumbling onto the same ploys Damian silently dismantles. He doesn’t trust you. But he can’t ignore you either ;)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He starts figuring out when you clock in or clock out of work. He may even know what you do for fun. Kind of studied all your routines without really intending to (marinette resemblance who??), definitely filing it all away in that brain of his. He’d probably claim it’s for ‘gathering important intel’ (son, who r you even kidding??)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He sketches crime scenes. Instead of photographs. His notebooks are filled with breathtaking charcoal drawings. Broken wands. Footprints. Curse residue. Victims. Magical creatures. Every detail perfectly accurate.
Someone once mistook one of his investigative sketches for museum-quality art.
Damian looked offended. “It is evidence.”
And perhaps, once he started fixating on you more often than not, he’d start sketching you too. Focused, strands of hair falling in front of your face, the curve of your shoulder as you lean further into the paperwork on your desk. “Anatomical studies”. (riiiiight ( ¬ᴗ¬))
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 His office is…Painfully organized. Books sorted by subject. Then author. Then publication year.
Potion ingredients alphabetized. Every quill sharpened identically. If someone moves one object. He notices. Immediately. Without looking. (I’m too spn pilled not to notice it’s giving Sam Winchester too lowk..)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 Like in canon runs, he’s the ultimate rage baiter™️. I haven’t been able to think of many examples for this in this context buuut I thought of a pureblood supremacist saying:
“Mudbloods weaken the magical society we live in.”
Unimpressed, Damian argues. “My father is technically a Muggle.”
“…”
“He’s also better than you.”
The sass is radiating off of him.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 Doesn’t really care about titles. Perhaps he used to, when titles in Hogwarts earned him more respect than his standoffish attitude ever did. But if someone found out he’s the son of Batman (who is, in my head, an independent vigilante the Ministry publicly condemns but privately relies upon whenever something impossible happens) he wouldn’t really give two craps.
“So Batman’s like actually your father.”
“Yes.”
“…”
“What reaction were you anticipating?”
“I don’t know.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He still struggles with vulnerability. But unlike fourteen year old lil Slytherin who’d get flustered and defensive, he’ll simply start weaving you into his routine without comment.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He’ll save you a seat for meetings. Definitely not making a snide remark at your lateness. He’d throw a chastise your way as he adjusts your undone tie, scuffing it neat to near perfection (practiced, due to uncountable gala events he had to attend when Bruce Wayne had to keep up appearances) before letting it go, ignoring the way his heart made flips in the air that would make Grayson’s athleticism look like kindergarten.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He’ll hand you a cup of coffee exactly how you take it, claiming he “made too much.” (Riiiiight. The guy’s probably more of a tea guy anyway.)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He’ll silently step between you and danger before you’ve even registered the threat. Be it dementors, evil magical creatures, Death Eaters or other enemies. Once someone even dared to step in your way, he’d show up beside/in front of you, like a shadow that just materialized out of thin air (I’d imagine it’d help that he was drilled in ruthless, supernatural levels of ninja-style silence that emphasize absolute zero-sound movement).
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He won’t say “I missed you.” He’d say, after you’ve been gone for a week: “Your reports have been significantly less thorough lately.” Perhaps you’d frown and say you weren’t even here. And he’d respond: “I noticed…that was my point.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 If he ever invited you outside of work, he’d try to find a legitimate excuse to do so. Perhaps because he ‘requires a second opinion on his greenhouse’. You’d probably laugh out loud when he mentions he has a Highland cow named Bat-cow who keeps destroying several Venomous Tentacula. And no he does not blush. That’s totally undignified.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 He remembers everything. You casually mention you’re allergic to peppermint five years ago? Alright, he’ll hand you a cup of tea. No peppermint.
“You remembered?”
“You told me. Once.”
“That was five years ago.”
“…yes.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 Honestly, I don’t think he’d be slick with it when he’s fond of you. You hand in your report, a coworker says it’s excellent, he’d claim it’s adequate. He’d point out that page six contains an assumption, lacking supporting evidence. And your formatting wasn’t good. He corrected it, don’t worry. Oh and he brought lunch. The veggie kind, he doesn’t touch meat ever since he saved Bat-Cow. At some point the office notices and it’s definitely not part of their useless chitchats.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ࣪𖤐 It’s just so very Damian to see that his feelings are expressed through observation, reliability, and unwavering loyalty long before he ever says them aloud. He’s just so pookie :3
